and knit or spin for our support. So we
took that small cottage, and furnished it with some of the parsonage
furniture, as you shall see; and kindly welcome I am sure you will be to
all it affords, though that is but little."

As she was saying this, she led him through the clover field towards the
cottage. His heart rebounded with joy that Rebecca was there: yet, as he
walked he shuddered at the impression which he feared the first sight of
her would make. He feared, what he imagined (till he had seen this
change in her sister) he should never heed. He feared Rebecca would look
no longer young. He was not yet so far master over all his sensual
propensities as, when the trial came, to think he could behold her look
like her sister, and not give some evidence of his disappointment.

His fears were vain. On entering the gate of their little garden,
Rebecca rushed from the house to meet them: just the same Rebecca as
ever.

It was her mind, which beaming on her face, and actuating her every
motion, had ever constituted all her charms: it was her mind which had
gained her Henry's affection. That mind had undergone no change; and she
was the self-same woman he had left her.

He was entranced with joy.

CHAPTER XLVI.

The fare which the Henrys partook at the cottage of the female Rymers was
such as the sister had described--mean, and even scanty; but this did not
in the least diminish the happiness they received in meeting, for the
first time since their arrival in England, human beings who were glad to
see them.

At a stinted repast of milk and vegetables, by the glimmering light of a
little brushwood on the hearth, they yet could feel themselves
comparatively blest, while they listened to the recital of afflictions
which had befallen persons around that very neighbourhood, for whom every
delicious viand had been procured to gratify the taste, every art devised
to delight the other senses.

It was by the side of this glimmering fire that Rebecca and her sisters
told the story of poor Agnes's fate, and of the thorn it had for ever
planted in William's bosom--of his reported sleepless, perturbed nights;
and his gloomy, or half-distracted days; when in the fullness of
_remorse_, he has complained--"of a guilty conscience! of the weariness
attached to a continued prosperity! the misery of wanting an object of
affection."

They told of Lord Bendham's death from the effects of intemperance; from
a mass o